YIREN
I wake up in the early morning, or at least that's what I think, judging by the soft haze filtering through the window.
My body feels stiff and sore, the cold from the floor seeping into my bones. The events of last night blur together in my mind, and I realize I'm still in the bikini—damp, sticky, and uncomfortable.
My head pounds, and I feel the weight of a fever setting in, no doubt from falling asleep naked and wet.
I groan softly, forcing myself up, my muscles protesting with each movement. My mouth feels dry, and as I blink away the remnants of sleep, the argument with Jun comes rushing back. The anger that had me ready to pack my bags is still fresh.
Where's my phone?
I glance around the dim room and spot it face-down near the bed. It's dead. Of course.
